Then stooping to the earth he grasped the soil with eager hand, He kissed it, and with water he mixed the thirsty sand. "O thou," he said, "poor soil and stream, in the Creator's plan Art the end and the beginning of all that makes us man! From thee rise myriad passions, that stir the human breast, To thee at last, when all is o'er, they sink to find their rest. Thou, Earth, hast been my mother, and when these pangs are o'er, Thou shalt become my prison-house whence I can pass no more." And now, like furies, from the east the gale began to blow, And with the crash of thunder the billows broke below. And now he saw the warring winds that swept across the bay Had struck the battered shallop and carried it away. "O piteous heaven," he cried aloud, "my hopes are like yon bark: Scattered upon the storm they lie and never reach their mark." And suddenly from cloudy heavens came down the darkling night And in his melancholy mood the captive left the height. He gained his boat, with trembling hand he seized the laboring oar And turning to the foaming wave he left his native shore. "Ah, well I wot on ocean's breast when loud the tempest blows Will rest be found when solid ground denies the heart repose. Now let the hostile sea perceive no power of hers I dread, But rather ask her vengeance may fall upon my head." Into the night the shallop turned, while floated far behind The captive's lamentation like a streamer on the wind. And now, like furies, from the east the gale began to blow, And with the crash of thunder the billows broke below. STRIKE SAIL! A Turkish bark was on the sea, the sunny sea of Spain, In sight of cliffs that Hercules made boundaries of the main; And one, Celimo's captive slave, as fierce the billows grew, Was listening as the ship-master this order gave the crew: "Strike sail! Strike sail! The furious gale Is rising fast! Strike sail!" Fierce fell on them the opposing winds, the ship was helpless driven; And with the ocean's flood were blent the thunder-drops of heaven. And as the inky clouds were rent, the fiery lightning flared, And 'mid the terror-stricken crew one voice alone was heard: "Strike sail! Strike sail! The furious gale Is rising fast! Strike sail!" And one there sat upon the deck, in captive misery, Whose tears ran mingling with the flood, the flood of sky and sea. Lost in the tempest of his thoughts, he fondly breathed a prayer, Whose mournful words were echoed by the mount of his despair: "Strike sail! Strike sail! The furious gale Is rising fast! Strike sail!"